


A Hero's Journey

by Crestpha



Category: Runescape (Video Games)
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-12-20
Updated: 2018-12-20
Packaged: 2019-09-23 07:02:42
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,778
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17075615
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Crestpha/pseuds/Crestpha
Summary: The journey of a hero is long and harsh. The story is slow and filled with adventures but only if one can surpass the hardship. Warning - character death in chapter 1.





	1. Ashdale, part 1

Her mother once said that she had her father's spirit. What that meant was anyone's guess, but more and more Annya thought it must be a mean one. How could it not be when the news of her mother's death seemed to affect her so little?

At the funeral, she didn't cry. She only stared at her mother's body before the priest lit it aflame and burned it to ashes. There would be no burial for her. That was the church's rule. No burial for the unwed mother of a bastard child. Annya watched the mass go on, her mother's "friends" giving condolences and throwing flowers into the burning pit that held her mother's body. Gudrik, the man set to be her new caretaker and a dwarf who had always been there for her mother, stood silently behind Annya. He had tears himself though Annya had none, as they watched the body burn. Annya heard whispers from the churchgoers. Some of them whispering condolences to the body as they passed and tossed in flowers, but most of them commenting on the coldness Annya seemed to have for her mother's body.

Ned came then. He didn't say anything as he held up a single exotic flower over the fire and let it drop gently. "You pay them no mind, child," Mr. Swarbrick said as he too looked at the flames. There was a long pause before he bowed his head and then took off.

When the attendees were gone, and all that remained was the priest, Gudrik, and Annya, Annya remained stoic and frozen in place as the Priest collected the remaining ashes of her mother into a covered pot and offered them to Gudrik. "Can I hold them?" she asked, and Gudrik nodded. The priest handed the pot to her instead. The pot was warm from the ashes, and it reminded her of her mother's warm hug. She held the pot with great care as Gudrik finished handling things with the church before leading them out of the church and into the cooling night. As they left the church, Annya looked back and allowed the image to burn itself into her mind. The priest at the door; the long wooden bridge that creaked and swung a little with each step and the passing wind; and the two knights that that framed the entrance. All of it was carved from white stone; a color thought to be pure and that Annya couldn't help but hate after that day.

Annya followed Gudrik closely. "Where are we going?" she asked as they moved further and further away from the marketplace area where Annya had lived with her mother and past the house, she knew to be Gudrik's.

High-house." Gudrik said, and Annya shivered at the thought. High-house was at the top of Ashdale's cliff and was isolated from the rest of the town. Her peers once told her that only the cursed stay in High-house.

"Why?" Annya asked.

"You will live there now," He told her. Annya stopped dead in her tracks.

"I thought I was to live with you?" She asked, her voice low and trembling a bit. Gudrik didn't turn to look back at her but instead kept walking.

"I must go to the mainland again soon, and my house in no place for a child alone." He said before signaling her to follow. She caught up quickly, her legs shaking as they walked and Gudrik mistook it for the cold.

"You will do well there. Warm. Fed. It is tied to your blood and will keep you well." He told her as they ascended the first of many steps toward High-house. They passed many a villager going about their business. Some with worried looks as the dwarf led them further and further through the town. Annya didn't know what Gudrik meant, but the talk of blood made her think the house certainly was a place for the cursed. When they passed the last of the village homes and ascended the final hill to high-house, Annya couldn't help but feel as though the whole of the village was watching, despite the fact that many were already in their homes and preparing for bed. High-house looked scary the closer they got. It was run-down and past the gate was an ancient looking elf seal that's grooves sparked in Annya a strange remembrance of something that made her anxious. "Go. Open the gate and the door for this old man." Gudrik said as he leaned against the wood catching his breath.

Annya, despite her fear, did as she was told--hoping that they would be locked and Gudrik would take them back into town. They weren't though. The gate with a loud creek gave way and it was the same with the door. Gudrik soon followed, and they stood at the door to High-house looking in. Much like a room in an inn, not that Annya had the experience of one to compare to, High-house's main room had little more than a bed, a desk, and nightstand. On the nightstand was a little candlelight that was bathing in the last of daylight coming in through the south-side window. In one corner, Annya could see a handle and the clear groves for a door leading below and to the west was a door leading outward to the second part of High-house. Gudrik pushed Annya into the house before stepping in himself. He pointed first to the door leading below. "Down there is a storeroom. It will keep food cool for most of the year because it is close to attached to the water. Never put your cooked food and the raw stuff together, understood?" He said. Annya nodded. He pointed to the west door, "Out there and up the steps is the kitchen. You can cook up there; I assume you know the basics of cooking?" Annya nodded in confirmation though really all she knew was how to warm some meat to the point of not being deadly. "Don't go out on those steps in a storm. If you get warning of a storm, you cook a few days of food and put it in the stores or up here and you don't set foot on those steps. They're slippery and ain't no one here to notice if you fall." Gudrik told her. She nodded again. He sat down on the bed and put his head in his hands. She stood in the room trembling and staring at him. She clutched the ashes of her mother tighter to her chest.

"I've made some arrangements. Maddison Popplewell and her husband will be over with your things come the morrow. I'll be sure to ask them for a chest and chair too. When you need anything, you just go to the market or ask. Mrs. Popplewell; she has my wallet and will make sure you're taken care of while I'm gone, though you best understand that I don't have much in the way of needless things so think carefully about what you need and what you want. Decipher the two and pick the need." He said grumpily. Annya didn't respond. He stood up, letting his hands drop and looking at Annya dead in the eye, she was only a bit shorter than him now, but no doubt she would grow a bit before he was able to return. He lit the candle on the nightstand. Annya didn't move to save for her trembling. _Must be the cold,_ he thought, and sure it was cold in High-house, but that would be fixed soon enough. 

He pointed up above, and Annya followed where his finger led to see a drop-down ladder she hadn't before. "Up there is a scope. You can see the whole of the island from there and even some of the mainland. More importantly, though, you can find a woodstove. It's not great for cooking, but if you're clever you might be able to work something out in a pinch--in the winter it can keep the whole of High-house warm--even the kitchen. It's got some magic in it. Same as the elf seal out front. He reached up and hoped to grab the ladder, pulling it down with a grunt.

The ladder made a loud thud as it hit the floor next to the east window and bed, just behind the front door. 

"You don't ever tell a soul about the elf magic, understood?" Gudrik said. Annya looked at him questioningly. "It's ancient blood magic not used for combat. You tell as soul, and you'll find yourself cursed in this home." Gudrik told her. It was partially a lie--but he wouldn't tell her that. He just needed to scare her a bit to make sure she wouldn't tell anyone. Only he and Ned needed to know. Annya nodded. 

"Say it." He urged, his voice gruff. 

"I won't tell." He shook his head. "Swear it, lass." Annya gulped. 

"I swear not to tell a soul about the elf magic of High-house." She said, he nodded. _And with that swear the house's magic wouldn't let her._

"I leave in a few hours," Gudrik said, Annya's face fell, even more, if one could believe. He looked away from her and out the darkening window. He hated the idea of leaving her alone now that her mother was dead. It went against his principle... but he had to go. A war had begun on the mainland, and he didn't have a choice but to go. 

"Don't leave, please," Annya begged, her voice trembling and cracked. A child's fear evident in her voice. Gudrik closed his eyes and prayed for a hardened heart. She reminded him so much of her mother, but he couldn't let that stop him. 

"Sorry child, but I must. I need to go prepare for you a bit more, so we have to say our goodbyes here." He said, taking a deep breath and turning around. He put his hands behind his back, clasping them like a war general inspecting his charge. She was too young — too little. But it had to be done. He needed to be stern so she could be strengthened by this coldness. The cold would do her well. It helped her through the funeral, and it would help her in her loneliness as it had helped him as a child. 

He knew she would survive, but he wondered what kind of person she would become in his absence and her mother's absence. "When I return..." he didn't know what to say, what to tell her...

"I will keep my promise; you will be cared for and when I return... just wait for it." He said, reaching out and patting her on the head as he had done many times. There would be no hug--hugs are for finalities, and he refused to make it final.

"See you soon, child," Gudrik said, making his way to the door. Annya didn't say a word. 


	2. Ashdale, part 2

Ned Swarbrick sat in his home looking out the north window where he could gaze at the remnants of his family's legacy. Out the window was the great statue of his ancestor--the first to land upon Ashdale's land and claim it for himself rather than his king and the only accept neutral territory in all the known world. He hoped that staring at the statue which gave him pride would help him forget his troubles.

Today, Marita's body was burnt to ash. He remembered it with a bitterness that outweighed the beer in his mug. As the night closed in, he heard a knock at the door and knew it must be Gudrik. He told the dwarf to enter and sure enough, the dwarf came in. He shut the door behind him and came up to Ned's table.

"Have a seat," Ned said, taking another sip of beer and turning to look at the dwarf.

Gudrik sat down at the offered chair and looked at Ned with clear solemness. "I have to go," The dwarf said.

"Aye," Ned responded. Long before Gudrik came with Marita he had pledged an oath to a king and all know that an oath of that kind is not meant to be broken. 

"You'll care for the lass in my absence, yeah?" Gudrik said. Ned stared at his drink long and hard. "Popplewell's wife will," Ned said with a grunt. The dwarf shook his head. 

"No; you will. A blade needs to be forged with fire not wetted with a mother's milk," the dwarf said, banging his fist upon the table. Ned swatted the air before him as if to push Gudrik's words away. 

"She's a girl--a lady by right and for the gods' sake even if she be a bastard, Gudrik. Hard living ain't meant for a girl like that," Ned insisted, "Give her to the Popplewells, heaven knows they'll take her--"

"And raise her like their own, but she ain't a daughter of Ashdale and raisen' her as such will never give her peace." The dwarf said, his voice stern. Ned turned back to look at the statue. "She's an adventurer's child, blessed by Zamorak _and_ Armadyl- sure to gain the others' blessings someday, like her father."

" _Blessed by Zamorak-_ -more like cursed," Ned hissed. "Blood, fire, and chaos are all that awaits his blessing--and Armadyl's was only given because of her mother's tears." 

"It was given all the same and once blessed it is the person's choice on how to use them." Ned scoffed and drank more of his beer.

"She doesn't know about her blood or her blessings. Let her live as a daughter of Ashdale and be done with it." Ned said emptying the last of his beer and tossing the mug to the ground."

"Not so long as she lives." The dwarf reminded. 

"She is not a blade," Ned insisted, "she is a girl as much as any other." The dwarf shook his head again and stood up. 

"Watch over her as Marita instructed us to and you will see as I have," he went to the door. "And if you still disagree before my return, I'll consider sending her to the Popplewells."

He left without a goodbye, shutting Ned's door and heading toward his home to collect his bag and join the other village men planning to head to war. 

Ned folded his hands and laid his head to rest upon them. War. He had fought in the last of war and it had cost him greatly. His wife, his son--both were gone now and all that remained was the grumpy old husk of Ned Swarbrick and his bleeding heart that never seemed to heal from their loss. As the night progressed, he decided to go out to the village's designated fireplace. He liked that place. It reminded him of both the worst and best times of the last war. A time when he and his comrades sat around a fire and telling stories of home and reading letters from loved ones--the momentary peace before the fighting continued. He was sure that no one would understand. After all, who would want to remember the isolation and devastation of war--but the fire and the night air reminded him of the peace within the storm so he liked it. 

He left his home and made the short walk down the way to pit. He would probably have to cut a tree once he got down there to start the fire, thankfully his tinderbox was always on his belt. 

As he neared the pit he saw a dark little shadow sitting on one of the benches. For a moment, he thought it was an imp before he remembered that Ashdale had never housed an imp in all his years. Hell, he had never seen a monster before leaving the cliffside village so how could he truly be convinced of one now. He approached and too his surprise sat little Annya, wrapped around a pot that surely held her mother's ashes. 

She stared at the empty pit, unmoving. 

"It's late, girl, you should head home," Ned scolded her as he went behind the benches to look for a good tree. Luckily for him, he had forgotten a few logs he had chopped beforehand. He picked up the logs and tossed them into the pit. 

Annya said nothing and didn't move. Ned paused. Soon he sat beside her and pulled out his tinderbox, lighting up the logs and pushing away the cold air. Annya hugged the pot as close to her chest as possible. He looked at her, thinking that she was looking at the fire, but she wasn't. She was looking to the docks below. They were long since emptied, but Ned had little doubt that she had watched the last of the ships go with Gudrik upon one of them. 

As the fire warmed them, Annya began to uncurl a bit. Her legs dropped off the bench, swinging a little as they did, but her grip never loosened on the pot. 

"Do you think I am a monster?" Annya asked after a long while of the two of them sitting alone. 

"No." Ned told her decisively and without having to think. "Why do you ask?" He said, using one of the few remaining unlit logs to push a lit one that had fallen poorly in the pit toward the center.

"Someone at church said it."

"Said it or called you one?" Ned asked, his voice not betraying his anger at whoever had said it.

"I read that monster's don't cry when they're family is dead; sometimes they don't even react," Annya told him, still looking at the docks.

"And that made you think you were a monster?" Ned asked. Annya nodded. He huffed. "Everyone deals with death differently but it has to be dealt with all the same. You go about it your way and pay others no mind," Ned told her. She still thought about it though as they sat in silence. He thought some more. "When the last war was upon us, many of the adults you see in Ashdale were not even born yet. Even your mother was not born by then," he started. "Most don't know what it is to see a death that isn't from old age or an accident. They don't know what its like to watch someone die slow, too weak to get out of bed, and in too much pain to even clutch your hand," Annya shivered then, reminded of her own mother's death. How the days leading up to it were as he described. 

"My wife and son died like that... it took a long time and to be honest, when they died it had already felt like they had passed from this world sometime prior. It felt like my grieving was already done. But just wait a while. The tears will come. The grieving will come and when it does, it will hurt. It will hurt as much as anything else, but you will live. You're young too, so I doubt you'll end up like me" Annya could kind of relate to what he described, though she couldn't imagine the tears or pain yet she was sure it would come because Mr. Swarbrick had never lied to her. 

She kind of hated him for that... but she respected him too. She hated him because he told her her mother would die, he told her she would suffer for it later if she didn't feel it now, and surely he would tell her other hard truths later on. He didn't care if she liked it, only that it prepared her and that was something she knew she could trust. 

Even if she hated him for it. 

When the last of the wood was burned it was late in the night. Possibly early in the morning before the moon sets and sun rises. Annya felt tired and her eyelids refused to stay open solidly. Mr. Swarbrick shook her with some force. 

"Get up now. I'll take you back," Annya clutched the pot close to her chest. 

"You can't go; I need to spread her ashes," Annya choked on the words, unable to finish her sentence. Her heart felt the first of its aching. Ned stood and reached out to pick up little Annya into his arms, but she shook her head and hopped off the bench herself. 

"Where?" Ned asked and Annya pointed behind them to the cliff side, past some cows. It was the cliffside where flowers grew and the side visible to the mainland. A place Marita had often visited in her free time before she lost the ability to walk. "Aye, best being doing that then," he said, pushing her back a little to get her to move forward. He would wait for her here and allow her the peace to do the deed. 

Annya walked with the pot in her hands. Her little legs started steady but trembled and shook the nearer she got to the edge. 

When she finally reached the cliff, she was shaking so harshly that Ned felt glad for the installation of the fence. 

He watched as she whispered to the pot and the first and only tear he would see from her fell as she opened the lid and dumped the ashes over the ledge. For a moment the wind lessened, allowing the ashes to fall gently below onto the cliffside flowers. The smell of freshly burned flowers filled the air and for a second-Ned could have sworn he saw Marita's form standing beside Annya, a hand around her small shoulders and a kiss upon her head before it too vanished from view like the ashes. 

The wind rose then and with it Annya threw the pot over the edge of the cliff as if filled with rage for the thing, With some new found strength she turned around and headed back toward the dimming fire and Ned. Her face still holding a single wet streak on her cheek from the tear that escaped. 

Ned took her back to High-house and Annya entered alone. The last of the Swarbrick's watched her close the door against the rising sea wind around them and wondered if he should have taken her to his home instead.

But Gudrik had put his foot down and Ned had agreed. He would follow Marita's rules and until Gudrik returned or till he was dead, the last Swarbrick would do as directed with her care. Though he maintained that regardless of blood, she was still a daughter of Ashdale.


End file.
